in Ayrshire, a scion of the noble house of Eglinton. The date of his
birth remains uncertain; beyond that it was, as he himself says, “on
Eister day at morne;” but he is believed to have first seen the light
at Hazelhead Castle about 1545. According to references in his works,
it appears that he was educated somewhere in Argyleshire. In any case
it is certain that he was a man of culture and refined tastes. Of good
social position, related by intermarriage with the Mures of Rowallan
and the Semples of Castle Semple, he was the professed admirer of Lady
Margaret Montgomerie, eldest daughter of Hugh, third Earl of Eglinton,
to whom he addressed several compositions in the “despairing lover”
tone fashionable in his time. He is recorded to have held some place
at Court, first under the Regent Morton, and afterwards under James
VI., from which, and not from military or naval rank, he appears to
have derived the title of Captain. For a time he stood high in favour
with the king, for whose _Essayes of a Prentise in the Divine Art of
Poesie_, he wrote a commendatory sonnet by way of preface. James,
moreover, in his _Rewlis and Cautelis of Poesie_, quotes several of
Montgomerie’s verses as patterns, and is recorded to have been greatly
diverted by the recitation of the “Flyting betwixt Montgomerie and
Polwart.” Later, however, the poet shared the fate of other courtiers,
and for some unknown reason fell into disgrace. Nor does any authority
exist for the supposition that he regained the royal favour and
accompanied the king to England. More probability attends the belief
that he settled at Compton Castle, near Kirkcudbright, in Galloway,
close by which, at the junction of the Dee and the Tarffe, tradition
points out the scene of his chief poem, “The Cherrie and the Slae.”
In Montgomerie there appears a curious reflection, though in fainter
colours, of the fate and character of Dunbar. Like the great makar of
James the Fourth’s time, he was the scion of a noble house. In his
verse appear the same eager efforts to secure favour at Court, the same
bitterness at disappointment, and the same succeeding rancour against
rivals and enemies. Here is the same oppression under insufficient
means, and the same eager and thirsty heart continually mocked by
“wicked weirds” and “thrauard fates.” Even his pension of 500 marks
a year, chargeable on certain rents of the archbishopric of Glasgow,
was withheld for a time, and only regained, by writ of privy seal, in
1588, after a vexatious law-suit. And on undertaking a foreign tour,
for which he received royal leave of absence in 1586, he found himself
for a time, upon what charge is unknown, thrown into prison. In one of
his sonnets he records his sorrows--
If lose of guids, if gritest grudge or grief,
If povertie, imprisonment, or pane,
If for guid-will ingratitude agane,
If languishing in langour but relief,
If det, if dolour, and to become deif,
If travell tint and labour lost in vane,
Do properly to poets appertane,
Of all that craft my chance is to be chief.
Like Dunbar, Montgomerie appears to have become serious in his later
years, “the productions of which,” to quote his latest editor, “breathe
a tender melancholy and unaffected piety, inspired with hopes of a
fairer future, in strange contrast to some of his earlier work.” To
the spirit of these years must also be attributed a metrical version
of Psalms, fifteen in number, apparently part of a complete metrical
paraphrase which he, in conjunction with some other writers, offered to
execute for the public free of charge.
It is gathered from the anonymous publication of this collection
of Psalms, entitled “The Mindes Melodie,” and from his series of
epitaphs, that the poet was still alive in the year 1605; but he was
dead before 1615, according to the title-page of a new edition of “The
Cherrie and the Slae,” printed by Andro Hart in that year.
According to his own poetic statement, he was small of stature, fairly
good-looking, and afflicted with the painful disease of gravel.
Most of Montgomerie’s poems have been preserved respectively in the
Drummond, the Maitland, and the Bannatyne MSS. After many separate
editions of the chief pieces, the whole of the poems were for the
first time collected into one volume (Edinburgh, 1821) by David Laing,
with a biographical notice by Dr. Irving, the historian of Scottish
poetry. The only other complete edition is that by Dr. James Cranstoun
(Scottish Text Society, 1885-87). The latter, in the present volume, is
regarded as the standard text.
“The Cherrie and the Slae,” Montgomerie’s chief effort, has ever since
its composition been one of the most popular of Scottish poems, no
fewer than twenty-three editions of it having been printed since 1597.
The intention of the allegory, according to Pinkerton, was to show
that moderate pleasures are better than high ones. But Dempster, who
translated it into Latin, considered it to be, first, a love allegory,
picturing a young man’s choice between a humble and a high-born
mistress, and afterwards the pourtrayal of a struggle between virtue
and vice. Most readers are likely to agree with Dr. Cranstoun in
considering Dempster’s solution correct, believing with him that “what
the poet began as an amatory lay he ended as a moral poem; what he
meant for a song turned out a sermon.” Thus, probably, it comes about
that the allegory is of small account, the chief value and charm of the
poem lying in its passages of description, its freshness of imagery,
and its mother-wit. The opening stanzas present by far the best part
of the composition. The remainder possesses but secondary interest,
notwithstanding the many pithy sayings introduced; and no climax is
reached even when the cherry is attained at the end of the piece.
Of the poet’s other works the longest extant is “The Flyting betwixt
Montgomerie and Polwart,” a tournament of Rabelaisian humour in the
style of the famous “Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedie.” Its chief
interest, for poetic qualities it has none, is as a specimen of a
class of composition--the mock duel of vituperation between good
friends--which was in those times considered an amusing literary
performance. His sonnets, “characterised by great poetic skill and
singular felicity of diction,” furnish no mean contribution to the
stores of a verse-form then greatly cultivated, while his miscellaneous
poems, nearly all amatory, exhibit mastery of a great variety of
measures. Sometimes, however, the tone of these appears affected to a
modern ear, and their imagery apt to descend into conceits.
There remains, preserved by the Maitland MS., another poem, “The
Bankis of Helicon,” a love lyric of great charm, which long enjoyed
the reputation of being the earliest piece written in the stanza
of “The Cherrie and the Slae.” Laing thought it possible that
Montgomerie might be the author of this, and Dr. Cranstoun establishes
the opinion with a fair amount of certainty, considering it one of
the series of compositions addressed by the poet to his kinswoman,
Lady Margaret Montgomerie, and pointing out the frequency with which
sets of expressions and even whole lines from the other pieces of
the series are repeated in it. Even if ascertained beyond doubt,
however, the authorship of “The Bankis of Helicon” would add nothing
to Montgomerie’s reputation, which is likely to live and die with the
reputation of his greatest work, the lyrical allegory of “The Cherrie
and the Slae.”
Greater in manner than in matter, Montgomerie’s verse owes its charm
to finish and grace rather than to vigour and imagination, affording
rather a late reflection of the early glories of the century than the
glow of a new inspiration; nevertheless it has remained constantly
popular, a surprising number of its lines having become household
words in the shape of proverbs; it claims the credit, along with
Dunbar’s work, of furnishing models both to Allan Ramsay and to Burns;
and, beyond all its Scottish contemporaries, it possesses intrinsic
qualities which assure it an enduring fame.
THE CHERRIE AND THE SLAE.
About ane bank, quhair birdis on bewis[1347]
Ten thusand tymis thair notis renewis
Ilke[1348] houre into the day,
The merle and maueis[1349] micht be sene,
The progne and the phelomene[1350],
Quhilk caussit me to stay.
I lay and leynit me to ane bus
To heir the birdis beir[1351];
Thair mirth was sa melodius
Throw nature of the yeir:
Sum singing, sum springing
With wingis into the sky;
So trimlie and nimlie
Thir birdis they flew me by.
I saw the hurcheon[1352] and the hair,
Quha fed amangis the flowris fair,
Wer happing to and fro.
I saw the cunning[1353] and the cat,
Quhais downis with the dew was wat,
With mony beisties mo.
The hart, the hynd, the dae, the rae,
The fowmart[1354], and the foxe
War skowping[1355] all fra brae to brae,
Amang the water broxe;
Sum feiding, sum dreiding
In cais of suddain snairis:
With skipping and tripping
Thay hantit[1356] all in pairis.
The air was sa attemperate,
But ony myst immaculate,
Bot purefeit and cleir;
The flowris fair wer flurischit,
As Nature had them nurischit
Baith delicate and deir[1357];
And euery blome on branche and bewch[1358]
So prettily wer spred,
And hang their heidis out-ouir the hewch[1359]
In Mayis colour cled;
Sum knopping[1360], sum dropping
Of balmie liquor sweit,
Distelling and smelling
Throw Phœbus hailsum heit.
The cukkow and the cuschet[1361] cryde,
The turtle, on the vther syde,
Na plesure had to play;
So schil[1362] in sorrow was her sang
That, throw hyr voice, the roches rang;
For Eccho answerit ay,
Lamenting sair Narcissus’ cace,
Quha staruit[1363] at the well;
Quha with the schaddow of his face
For lufe did slay himsell.[1364]
Quhylis weiping and creiping
About the well he baid;
Quhylis lying, quhylis crying,
Bot it na answere maid.
The dew as diamondis did hing
Vpon the tender twistis[1365] and ying,
Owir-twinkling all the treis;
And ay quhair flowris flourischit faire
Thair suddainly I saw repaire
In swarmes the sounding beis.
Sum sweitly hes the hony socht,
Quhil[1366] they war cloggit soir:
Sum willingly the waxe hes wrocht,
To heip it vp in stoir.
So heiping with keiping,
Into thair hyuis they hyde it,
Precyselie and wyselie
For winter they prouyde it.
To pen the pleasures of that park,
How euery blossome, branche, and bark,
Agaynst the sun did schyne,
I leif to poetis to compyle
In staitlie verse and lofty style:
It passis my ingyne.
Bot as I mussit myne allane,
I saw an river rin
Out-ouir ane craggie rok of stane,
Syne lichtit in ane lin[1367],
With tumbling and rumbling
Amang the rochis round,
Dewalling[1368] and falling
Into that pit profound.
To heir thae startling stremis cleir
Me-thocht it musique to the eir,
Quhat deskant did abound
With trible sweit, an tenor iust,
And ay the echo repercust
Hir diapason sound,
Set with the Ci-sol-fa-uth cleife,[1369]
Thairby to knaw the note;
Thair soundit a michtie semibreif
Out of the elphis throte[1370].
Discreitlie, mair sweetlie
Nor craftie Amphion,
Or Musis that vsis[1371]
At fountaine Helicon.
Quha wald haue tyrit to heir that tune,
Quhilk birdis corroborate ay abune[1372],
Throw schowting of the larkis?
Sum flies sa high into the skies,
Quhill Cupid walkinnes[1373] with the cryis
Of Nature’s chappell clarkis,
Quha, leving all the hevins aboue
Alighted in the eird[1374].
Lo, how that little God of Loue
Befoir me thair apperid!
So myld-lyke and chyld-lyke,
With bow thrie quarteris scant,
So moylie and coylie[1375],
He lukit like ane sant.
Ane cleinlie crisp[1376] hang ouir his eyis
His quauer by his naked thyis
Hang in ane siluer lace.
Of gold, betwix his schoulders, grew
Twa pretty wingis quhairwith he flew;
On his left arme ane brace[1377].
This god aff all his geir he schuik
And laid it on the grund.
I ran als busie for to luik
Quhair ferleis[1378] micht be fund.
Amasit I gasit
To see that geir sa gay
Persawing my hawing[1379]
He countit me his pray.
His youth and stature made me stout;
Of doubleness I had na doubt,
Bot bourded[1380] with my boy.
Quod I, “How call they thee, my chyld?”
“Cupido, Sir,” quod he, and smyld:
“Please you me to imploy;
For I can serve you in your suite,
If you please to impyre[1381],
With wingis to flie, and schafts to schute,
Or flamis to set on fyre.
Mak choice then out of those then,
Or of a thousand things;
Bot craue them, and haue them.”
With that I wowed[1382] his wings.
“Quhat wald thou giue, my friend,” quod he,
“To haf thae prettie wingis to flie,
To sport thee for a quhyle?
Or quhat, gif I suld len thee heir
My bow and all my shuting geir,
Sum bodie to begyle?”
“That geir,” quod I, “can not be bocht,
Yet I wald haif it faine[1383].”
“Quhat gif,” quod he, “it coist thee nocht
Bot randring it againe?”
His wingis than he bringis than,
And band them on my back:
“Go flie now,” quod he now,
“And so my leif I tak.”
I sprang vp on Cupidoes wingis,
Quha bow and quauir baith resingis[1384]
To lend me for ane day.
As Icarus with borrowit flicht
I mountit hichar nor[1385] I micht;
Ouir perrelous ane play.
Than furth I drew that deadlie dairt
Quhilk sumtyme schot his mother,
Quhair-with I hurt my wanton heart,
In hope to hurt ane-vther.
It hurt me, it burt[1386] me,
The ofter I it handill.
Cum se now, in me now,
The butter-flie and candill.
As scho delytis into the low[1387],
Sa was I browdin in[1388] my bow,
Als ignorant as scho;
And als scho flies quhill sche be fyrit,
Sa, with the dart that I desyrit,
My hand hes hurt me to.
As fulisch Phaëton, be sute[1389],
His fatheris cart obteind,
I langt in Luiffis bow to shute,
Bot weist not what it meind.
Mair wilfull than skilfull
To flie I was so fond,
Desyring, impyring,
And sa was sene vpond[1390].
To late I knaw, quha hewis to hie[1391],
The spail[1392] sall fall into his eie;
To late I went to scuillis.
To late I heard the swallow preiche,[1393]
To late Experience dois teiche--
The skuill-maister of fuillis.
To late to fynde the nest I seik,
Quhen all the birdis are flowin;
To late the stabill dore I steik[1394],
Quhen all the steids are stowin[1395].
To lait ay their stait ay
All fulische folke espye;
Behynd so, they fynd so
Remeid, and so do I.
Gif I had rypelie bene aduysit
I had not rashlie enterprysit
To soir with borrowit pennis,
Nor yit had saied the archer craft,
Nor schot myself with sik a schaft
As resoun quite miskennis[1396].
Fra[1397] wilfulnes gaue me my wound
I had na force to flie,
Then came I granand[1398] to the ground:
“Freind, welcome hame!” quod he.
“Quhair flew ye, quhome slew ye,
Or quha bringis hame the buiting[1399]?
I sie now,” quod he now,
“Ye haif bene at the schuting.”
As skorne cummis commonlie with skaith[1400]
Sa I behuifit to byde them baith:
O quhat an stakkering stait[1401]!
For vnder cure I gat sik chek[1402]
Quhilk I micht nocht remuif nor nek[1403],
Bot eyther stail or mait[1404].
My agonie was sa extreme
I swelt and soundt[1405] for feir;
Bot, or I walkynnit of[1406] my dreme
He spulyied[1407] me of my geir.
With flicht than on hicht than
Sprang Cupid in the skyis,
Foryetting and setting
At nocht my cairfull cryis.
Sa lang with sicht I followit him
Quhill baith my feiblit eyis grew dim
With staruing on the starnis[1408];
Quhilk flew sa thick befoir my ein,
Sum reid, sum yellow, blew, and grein,
Sa trublit all my harnis[1409];
Quhill euery-thing apperit two
To my barbuilyiet[1410] braine,
Bot lang micht I lye luiking so
Or Cupid come againe;
Quhais thundring, with wondring
I hard vp throw the air;
Throw cluddis so he thuddis so
And flew I wist not quhair.
Fra that I saw that god was gane,
And I in langour left allane,
And sair tormentit, to,
Sum-tyme I sicht quhill[1411] I was sad,
Sum-tyme I musit and maist gane mad,
I wist not quhat to do.
Sum-tyme I ravit, halfe in a rage,
As ane into dispaire;
To be opprest with sic ane page[1412]
Lord! gif my heart was saire!
Like Dido, Cupido
I widill and [I] warye[1413],
Quha reft me, and left me
In sik a feirie-farye[1414].
Then felt I Curage and Desyre
Inflame my heart with vncouth[1415] fyre,
To me befoir vnknawin;
Bot now na blud in me remaines
Vnbrunt and boyld[1416] within my vaines,
By luffis bellies blawin[1417].
To quench it, or I was deuorit,
With siches I went about;
Bot ay the mair I schape to smor it[1418]
The baulder it brak out:
Ay preising but ceising[1419]
Quhill it may breik the boundis.
My hew so furth schew so
The dolour of my woundis.
With deidlie visage, paill and wan,
Mair like ane atomie[1420] nor man,
I widderit[1421] cleine away.
As wax befoir the fyre, I felt
My hart within my bosome melt
And pece and pece decay.
My vaines with brangling[1422] like to brek--
My punsis lap[1423] with pith--
Sa feruently did me infek
That I was vext thairwith.
My hart ay did start ay
The fyrie flamis to flie,
Ay houping, throu louping,
To win[1424] to liberty.
Bot O! alace! byde it behuissit[1425],
Within my cairfull corpis incluissit[1426],
In presoun of my breist;
With sichis sa sowpit and ouirset[1427],
Like to an fische fast in the net,
In deid-thraw vndeceist[1428],
Quha, thocht[1429] in vaine, dois striue for strenth
For to pull out hir heid,
Quhilk profitis nathing at the lenth
Bot haistes hir to hir deid[1430].
With wristing and thristing[1431]
The faster still is scho;
Thair I so did lye so,
My death advancing to.
The mair I wrestlit with the wynd
The faschter[1432] still myself I fynd;
Na mirth my mynd micht mease[1433].
Mair noy[1434], nor I, had neuer nane,
I was sa alterit and ouirgane[1435]
Throw drowth[1436] of my disease.
Than weakly, as I micht, I rayis;
My sicht grewe dim and dark;
I stakkerit at the windilstrayis[1437],
Na takin[1438] I was stark.
Baith sichtles and michtles,
I grew almaist at ainis[1439];
In angwische I langwische
With mony grievous grainis[1440].
With sober pace I did approche
Hard to the riuer and the roche
Quhairof I spak befoir;
Quhais running sic a murmure maid,
That to the sey it softlie slaid;
The craig was high and schoir[1441].
Than pleasur did me so prouok
Perforce thair to repaire,
Betuix the riuer and the rok,
Quhair Hope grew with Dispaire.
A trie than I sie than
Of CHERRIES in the braes.
Belaw, to, I saw, to,
Ane buss of bitter SLAES[1442].
The CHERRIES hang abune my heid,
Like twinkland rubies round and reid,
So hich vp in the hewch[1443],
Quhais schaddowis in the riuer schew,
Als graithlie[1444] glansing, as they grewe,
On trimbling twistis tewch[1445],
Quhilk bowed throu burding of thair birth[1446],
Inclining downe thair toppis,
Reflex of Phœbus of the firth[1447]
Newe colourit all thair knoppis[1448],
With dansing and glansing
In tirles dornik champ[1449],
Ay streimand and gleimand
Throw brichtnes of that lamp.
With earnest eye quhil I espye
The fruit betuixt me and the skye,
Halfe-gaite[1450], almaist, to hevin,
The craig sa cumbersume to clim,
The trie sa hich of growth, and trim
As ony arrowe evin,
I cald to mind how Daphne did
Within the laurell schrink,
Quhen from Apollo scho hir hid.[1451]
A thousand times I think
That trie then to me then,
As he his laurell thocht;
Aspyring but tyring[1452]
To get that fruit I socht.
To clime the craige it was na buit[1453]
Lat be to presse[1454] to pull the fruit
In top of all the trie.
I saw na way quhairby to cum
Be ony craft to get it clum,
Appeirandly to me.
The craige was vgly, stay, and dreich[1455],
The trie heich, lang, and smal[1456];
I was affrayd to mount sa hich
For feir to get ane fall.
Affrayit to say it[1457],
I luikit vp on loft;
Quhiles minting, quhiles stinting[1458],
My purpose changit oft.
Then Dreid, with Danger and Dispaire,
Forbad my minting anie mair
To raxe aboue my reiche[1459].
“Quhat, tusche!” quod Curage, “man, go to,
He is bot daft that hes ado[1460],
And spairis for euery speiche.
For I haue oft hard wise men say,
And we may see our-sellis,
That fortune helps the hardie ay,
And pultrones plaine repellis.
Than feir not, nor heir not
Dreid, Danger, or Dispaire;
To fazarts hard hazarts[1461]
Is deid or[1462] they cum thair.
“Quha speidis bot sic as heich aspyris?
Quha triumphis nocht bot sic as tyris
To win a nobill name?
Of schrinking quhat bot schame succeidis?
Than do as thou wald haif thy deidis
In register of fame.
I put the cais, thou nocht preuaild,
Sa thou with honour die,
Thy life, bot not thy courage, faild,
Sall poetis pen of thee.
Thy name than from Fame than
Sall neuir be cut aff:
Thy graif ay sall haif ay
That honest epitaff.
“Quhat can thou loose, quhen honour lyuis?
Renowne thy vertew ay reuyuis
Gif valiauntlie thou end.”
Quod Danger, “Hulie[1463], friend, tak heid!
Vntymous spurring spillis the steid.
Tak tent[1464] quhat ye pretend.
Thocht Courage counsell thee to clim,
Bewar thou kep na skaith[1465].
Haif thou na help bot Hope and him,
They may beguyle thé baith.
Thy-sell now can tell now
The counsell of thae clarkis,
Quhairthrow yit, I trow yit,
Thy breist dois beir the markis.
“Brunt bairn with fyre the danger dreidis;
Sa I beleif thy bosome bleidis
Sen last that fyre thou felt.
Besydis this, seindell tymis thé seis[1466]
That euer Curage keipis the keyis
Of knawledge at his belt.
Thocht he bid fordwart with the gunnis,
Small powder he prouydis.
Be nocht ane novice of the nunnis
That saw nocht baith the sydis.
Fuil-haist[1467] ay almaist ay
Ouirsylis[1468] the sicht of sum
Quha huikis not[1469], nor luikis not
Quhat eftirward may cum.
“Yit Wisdome wischis thé to wey
This figour of philosophey--
A lessoun worth to leir[1470]--
Quhilk is, in tyme for to tak tent,
And not, when tyme is past, repent,
And buy repentance deir.
Is thair na honoure efter lyfe
Except them slay thy-sell?
Quhairfoir hes Attropus[1471] that knyfe?
I trow thou cannot tell,
That, but it, wald cut it
That Clotho[1472] skairse hes spun,
Distroying thy joying
Befoire it be begun.
“All ouirs are repuit to be vyce[1473]--
Ore hich, ore law, ore rasche, ore nyce,
Ore heit, or yit ore cauld.
Thou seemes vnconstant be thy sings[1474];
Thy thocht is on ane thousand things;
Thou wattis[1475] not quhat thou wald.
Let Fame hir pittie on thé powre
Quhan all thy banis ar brokin:
Yone SLAE, suppose[1476] you think it soure,
May satisfie to slokkin[1477]
Thy drouth[1478] now, O youth now,
Quhilk drownis thee with desyre.
Aswage than thy rage, man,
Foull water quenches fyre.
“Quhat fule art thou to die of thirst,
And now may quench it, gif thou list,
So easily, but paine!
Maire honor is to vanquisch ane
Nor feicht with tensum[1479] and be tane,
And outhir hurt or slane.
The prattick[1480] is, to bring to passe,
And not to enterprise;
And als guid drinking out of glas
As gold, in ony wise.
I leuir[1481] haue euer
Ane foule in hand, or tway,
Nor seand ten fleand
About me all the day.”
[The argument is taken up by Hope, Will, Reason, Experience, and
other allegorical qualities, who each urge their view of the
enterprise. Finally, by all in company, the ascent is essayed, and
the Cherrie secured.]
[1347] boughs.
[1348] each.
[1349] thrush.
[1350] swallow and nightingale.
[1351] sound.
[1352] hedgehog.
[1353] rabbit.
[1354] polecat.
[1355] skipping.
[1356] kept their haunts.
[1357] wild.
[1358] bough.
[1359] cliff.
[1360] budding.
[1361] ringdove.
[1362] shrill.
[1363] stared.
[1364] Ovid, _Metamorphoses_, iii. 407, and on. The legend is alluded
to by Shelley in “The Sensitive Plant,” when he describes the narcissus
flowers,
“Who gaze on thine eyes in the stream’s recess
Till they die of their own dear loveliness.”
[1365] twigs.
[1366] Till.
[1367] pool under a cataract.
[1368] descending.
[1369] The syllables, _ut_, _re_, _mi_, _fa_, _so_, _la_, are said,
says Dr. Cranstoun, “to have been first used in the teaching of singing
by Guido of Arezzo in the eleventh century. Le Maire, a French musician
of the seventeenth century, added _si_ for the seventh of the scale.”
[1370] _i.e._ the throat of Echo, one of the cavern elves.
[1371] are accustomed to be.
[1372] above.
[1373] Till Cupid wakens.
[1374] earth.
[1375] mildly and quietly.
[1376] veil of cobweb lawn.
[1377] arm-covering.
[1378] marvels.
[1379] Perceiving my behaviour.
[1380] jested.
[1381] to hold sway.
[1382] wooed, made sign for.
[1383] have it gladly.
[1384] resigns.
[1385] higher than.
[1386] burned.
[1387] flame.
[1388] foolishly fond of.
[1389] by suit.
[1390] upon it.
[1391] hews (a tree) too high.
[1392] splinter.
[1393] An allusion to the fable of Æsop, versified by Henryson. The
swallow, seeing a farmer sowing flax, begged the other birds to help
her to pick up the seed, as the thread produced from it should compose
the fowler’s snare. Being twice refused and ridiculed, she resolved
to quit the society of her thoughtless fellows, and has ever since
frequented the dwellings of men.
[1394] shut.